


a blur of spinning wheels

by noiselesspatientspider



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: COUNTER/Weight - Freeform, Emotional Manipulation, Episode: s02e41 A Splintered Branch A Ringing Chime, Orth has Grown and Changed, i'm proud of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 06:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11526684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noiselesspatientspider/pseuds/noiselesspatientspider
Summary: "'I won’t do this to you, Orth. You turned out too damn good.''Do what?''Give you the only thing I can offer.'"Ibex knows many things about himself. One of them is that he's good at lying.At the dance, a balcony scene.





	a blur of spinning wheels

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: Ibex's relationship with Orth is canonically pretty damn manipulative, and Ibex tries to continue that pattern.

The thing about a dance held for all the luminaries of the Golden Branch is that there’s always a balcony. It’s beautiful; the balcony floats hundreds of feet above the ground, the dome suspended just above it. From up here, the noxious clouds that make that dome necessary look atmospheric, almost gentle, soft puffs of pink and orange drifting past. If you didn’t look closely, you wouldn’t even know they were poison.

Orth came out here from some air, ostensibly, although when Ibex walked out, he was putting a vial back into the pocket of his suit jacket, and his drink was fizzing violently. Ibex studiously pretends not to see it, because Ibex came out here for Orth. 

“Hello,” Orth says. 

“Hello, Orth. Your other dance partner tire you out?”

Orth doesn’t answer, just takes a sip of his drink. 

Ibex takes a step closer. "You've been doing great work for the sector. You've been pushing yourself so hard. All those late nights, all those trips from planet to planet, dome to dome. Don't you ever get lonely?"

Orth is staring at him. For a moment, his eyes wide, he looks ten years younger. And then he huffs. It's not quite a laugh; there's no joy in it.

"It's been a lovely evening," he says. "Don't do this."

“There’s no shame in letting yourself have a little comfort, Orth.” He's so close now. He can see Orth's eyelashes. All he has to do is reach out and--

Orth jerks back, turns away. “Comfort,” he says. He's gripping the balcony with both hands. Behind him, Ibex can see the lights of the maglev trains rushing headlong into the black. 

"You know, if you had kissed me then, I would have let you. I probably would have let you fuck me. I would have done anything you asked me to. I did do anything you asked me to. You made me good at saying yes to you." Ibex can't see his face. "And people died because of it."

Ibex doesn't say anything, just looks at the line of Orth's suit jacket against his neck, the contrast of his white collar against the skin there. His drink sits forgotten on the railing next to him, bubbles slowly rising to the surface to pop.

"You keep saying Righteousness is the one that burns people up, Ibex, but I think you're lying to yourself. It's never been Righteousness at all, has it? It's you. It's just you."

"You know that's not true," Ibex says, and he lets his voice rasp, just a little. It's like the elbow of an old mech, like the noise the Kingdom Come's hold makes when it creaks shut.

Orth just laughs, a short sharp bark of a sound. “Go home, Ibex.”

“Sure,” Ibex says. “Where would you like me?”

He turns around at that. “No,” Orth says. “No, we’re not doing it like this.” He doesn’t look furious. Ibex had been hoping he’d look furious. It’s a good look on him. Instead, he's just exhausted. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave here. You’re going to go somewhere. I don’t care where.” 

His voice hardens. “You’re going to go. We’re going to fight Rigor. Maybe we won’t die. Either way, we’re never going to talk about this again. You can do that, can’t you, Ibex?”

“Yes,” Ibex says. This time the rasp of his own voice surprises him. “If you want me to.”

“Good,” Orth says. “I do.” He walks past Ibex. The door closes behind him, and then Ibex is alone. This high up, it’s cold. He leans back against the balcony, tilts his head up towards the sky, where Weight glows above him, a dense and sullen jewel.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the folks on the discord for both prompting and enabling this!  
> title is from "cry for judas"; i continue to be predictable at @shipyrds on twitter


End file.
